Last Rites
by The Notorious Peter Pan
Summary: Ruth is left to contemplate her thoughts on the last man on earth at his funeral, while assailed by a much greater threat. One-shot, for now.


Based on I Am Legend by Matheson. During and After the funeral.

I don't know if I'll continue this, but for now, it is only a one-shot.

* * *

Ruth stared into the empty grave, painfully aware of the hundreds of eyes on the casket as it was lowered slowly into the grave. It would be marked as that of the last human, the enemy of the people that had struck fear in their hearts for so many months. Though she had provided the means for Neville's death, she felt it was a waste of a good life. She would shed no tears; they could not be afforded in this situation. She was not his ally. She was supposed to have been his enemy.

Cold rain gently pelted the funeral crowd. Why was it, she thought to herself, that every time there was a funeral, it either rained or was clear and sunny outside? The casket hit the bottom and the workers quickly began to fill the space with wet earth. Other members of the new government were murmuring about the significance of this day. John Norris was receiving verbal pats on the back from his colleagues about reporting the whereabouts of Neville. But his position had been known and there was no great achievement to be applauded for. It had been a sneak attack with only the intention of capturing Neville and eradicating the lesser people who had been infected.

Those of the population now left over sustained a greater capability of holding off the hunger than the first wave of infected. Ruth could feel the pangs of the hunger. No matter how much she fed, she still felt its tug, and even with the help of the drugs, the hungers pull still loomed about her, about everyone.

The grave was covered and the crowd began to disperse. Ruth stood a while longer, cursing Neville for not taking her advice all those months ago. She had loved him, or at least, felt the beginnings of what could have been love. In anther time, in another place, she knew she could have been happy with him. She could have loved him, and he her, and they would have lived quite peaceably for all their lives. But that was not the current state of affairs. She and her husband had both been infected, and Robert had killed him. She had volunteered herself as a spy, seeking revenge for her husband's death. But instead of finding the cruel, cold-hearted enemy she sought, she found a lonely and sad man who only sought the comfort of her company. He had frightened her, oh yes he had, and from that grew a loathing of herself, and what she had intended to do to him. But that was the past.

"Hello Ruth." She turned slightly to see who was standing in her peripheral vision. The man that spoke was watching her with interest.

"Hello Laraby."

"Oh, please Ruth, call me Allen. Let's not be so formal, shall we?" His smile revealed a set of teeth as white as his skin. In their present infection, all of them were paler than white paint.

"I prefer Laraby." She turned back to the grave, where the diggers were now putting the gravestone in place.

"You know, I heard a silly rumor today, about you in fact, and Neville. I heard that you two were lovers, and that you provided him poison with which he could take his life if he chose. Now, hearing such a silly thing caused me to find it amusing, don't you think?" The smile was wider now, but it did not reach his eyes.

Ruth turned to study him. Where Neville had possessed a rugged handsomeness about him, Laraby was a man of delicate features, almost effeminate, but just enough to the point that he could still be considered handsome.

"I wouldn't know what goes on in that brain of yours. And I would think that a man of your esteem would not take into account silly rumors that fly around," she replied coolly. She detested Laraby. He was tall and sinuous, and powerful, and each time she looked at him, she was reminded of a python, ready to strike its prey.

"Ah, but my dear," he paused to step closer to her, close enough that she could just feel the heat of his breath, "you were the last to see Neville before his…death. That looks very suspicious and reflects badly upon our regime. A high ranking official that had ties to the prisoner beforehand sees the prisoner and then he just up and dies a few moments after she leaves? I don't think so dear."

Without losing herself to her turbid emotions, Ruth responded quietly and with finesse. "And I suppose what you do with the lower ranking employees reflects well upon our regime? Or how about the truth of how you managed to become our venerable leader in this time of dire need? Neville was a good man. He attempted to do what we have only been pretending to do: survive and live. He had more life in him than all of our population together."

She started to turn away from Laraby, and her heightened sense of smell alerted Ruth to his inclinations toward her. His hand gripped her shoulder painfully. To passerby, it would merely look as if Laraby was consoling her.

"I know what no one else does about you. Should you ever slip up like that again Ruth, I might forget to take my medicine, and come looking for you. And what I do to those girls will look like a cute little fairytale compared to you. Have I made myself clear?" His mouth grazed Ruth's ear and she shivered. Laraby, for all his talk, was very powerful and could easily do what he promised he would. Ruth pulled away from him and started to walk, but she stopped and turned to look at him.

"You appointed me as secondary commander in charge, and with that title, I may do whatever I please for the good of the people. And by the way Allen, you do not have permission to call me Dear."

As she walked from him, Ruth made a silent little prayer to herself, and to Robert Neville.

I promise, even up until my last dying breath, I will find others like Robert. I will find them and I will save them and hide them away from people like Laraby, and do my best to protect them.

Tonight, after everyone was sound asleep and the world was still, she would exhume Neville's body, and she would bury it somewhere more appropriate. She'd had her people bring her all of Neville's books and research, and had combed though all of it. In her search, she'd found the location of his wife's body. She would bury him next to Virginia – that had been her name in life – so that he might rest near her. It was a silly foolish thing to want to do, but it gave her comfort should she do it, knowing that she had actually managed to do some good for the last man on this earth.


End file.
